


Tape Deck

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angry Sex, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> <a href="http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/121940827460/tape-deck">confusedwinchester11 said:</a> Smut, Dean and reader hate each other in beginning which leads to angry turned hot intimacy. Please :)</em>
</p><p>After being rescued from a cult, you accept a place by the sides of Sam and Dean Winchester. But that doesn't mean Dean and you have to get along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tape Deck

Fact: you had bought an exquisite, imported, bar of Cadbury’s chocolate for yourself when you’d stopped by a specialist candy store while in a town on a case.

Fact: Dean Winchester had taken that damned chocolate and stuffed his face with all of it not long after you’d reached the motel you would be staying at that night.

Fact: While Dean and Sam we’re out questioning locals, you’d drunk all of Dean’s last six bottles of beer and didn’t get tipsy.

F-A-C-T.

Research paused for the day, a thick pile of notes ready for the guys to flick through and do with as they pleased, you were in your room, reading a book, the empty beer bottles in Sam and Dean’s room next door. On Dean’s nightstand. Ready. Waiting.

You were dressed for bed, bed shorts and one of your old, tight, Queens of the Stone Age concert t-shirts. Tiredness chased you, your eyes were heavy, but you were determined to reach the end of the chapter. Your poison was _The Dead Zone_ by Stephen King, and you were happy to be reading something that wasn’t about the eating and nesting habits of Lamias. You were happy not to be considering your own troubled situation of being pulled from a bad home situation thanks to the Winchesters.

The troubles of Johnny Smith and his awakening gift were a far more pleasant salve to your imagination than some of the etchings of Lamias in their true forms that you’d encountered earlier that day. A light against the memories of what your parents’ cult had tried to do...

Reaching the end of the chapter, you left a bookmark between the book’s creased pages and bent spine - you’d picked it up from a thrift store - and settled under the covers of your bed. Giving a quick glance to the windows and doors, you noted the unbroken salt lines and turned off your bedside lamp. Sleep claimed you quickly.

*

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Dean’s yells penetrated the thin motel room walls and woke you up. You smiled serenely and sleepily as you you listened to Dean’s booted feet thump out of his and Sam’s room and come to a stop outside yours. Even when the hammering on your door began, you didn’t rush to open it. Taking your own sweet time, you eventually eased yourself out of your motel bed, turning your light back on and slowly walked to the door, before unlocking and opening it to the cold night air.

“Yes, Dean?” Your voice was reasonable, calm and measured. The complete opposite of the fury that covered Dean’s features.

Dean’s nostrils flared and his brow furrowed, as he appeared to try and reel back a layer of his anger. “You drank my beers!”

“You ate my chocolate!”

“You messed with my stereo!”

“You dragged me out here!”

“You-”

“ENOUGH!” Sam’s voice cut through you like ice and you stepped back from your door, shocked. “What are you two? Twelve?! It’s just some beer and candy. Either grow the hell up or I will be picking the music tomorrow, as I drive… by myself.”

Sam stalked back to his and Dean’s room. Dean remained stood in your doorway staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. Remembering your notes, you held a hand up to Dean and quickly ran back into your room and bent over by the side of your bed, looking for your notes. Finding the stack of paper, you padded back to the door and held the papers out to Dean.

“Here, the Lamina research you wanted.”

The anger that had burned so brightly just minutes ago was gone. Instead, Dean continued to stare at you in a way that you didn’t really understand, the research still untouched by him.

“Earth to jerk,” you snapped your free fingers in front of Dean’s face, “hello, Earth to jerk - take the damn research.”

Dean shook his head and focused on the papers in your outreached hand. “Right, sure, thanks.” Taking the research notes, Dean turned and said no more. He didn’t even make a bitchface for being called a jerk.

You watched him leave and then closed your motel room door once more, locking it and redoing the line of salt. Scrambling into bed, you quickly drifted back to sleep.

Green eyes and freckles peppered your dreams. But you remembered neither when you awoke.

*

Twelve hours later you were pushing 80 down an empty road, Baby’s windows down, barren scrub either side, wind in your hair. Your hands on the wheel, your uniforms of jeans and plaid shirt relatively unspoiled compared to the guys’. Dean was fussing over Sam in the back, as he tried to clean up the deep cuts that Sam had sustained from a, now dead, Lamina. You could hear Sam suck in a breath, holding back a cry as Dean rubbed iodine over his wounds. The journey was five minutes in, but you needed some music.

You popped one of Dean’s tapes out of the Impala's stereo, and fished, carefully, in your jacket pocket for the mixtape you’d been holding onto for such an occasion. You’d made the tape back at the Bunker, after buying an old portable stereo from another thrift store, and using it to record a tape from parts of your rescued CD collection. All the tracks it contained had been written and recorded after 1990.

Finding the tape, you slid it into the stereo and pressed play, cranking the volume up as the first few notes of Queens of the Stone Age’s “Smooth Sailing” started to pump through Baby’s speakers and you could feel Dean shift in his seat. You had still not forgiven him for the chocolate, so seeing, in the rearview mirror, Dean’s stunned and horrified face as his Baby was flooded with unfamiliar, hard hitting, music was... priceless.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Dean bellowed.

“Queens of the Stone Age. Suck it up Winchester! DRIVER PICKS THE MUSIC!” You replied, grinning.

“I kind of like it,” Sam said hazily, his voice cracking with pain.

You flashed Dean a cruel smile in the mirror and he glared at you for a moment before turning his attention back to Sam.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Cried Sam, as he was doused with more iodine than was perhaps necessary.

You sang along to the song, the lyrics coming easy from your memory. “I got: bruises and hickeys, stitches and scars / Got my own theme music plays wherever I are…”

From behind you, you could feel Dean rolling his eyes. But as your eyes stayed on the road, you missed the lick of his lips as his gaze settled on you.

*

The night was young, and quiet (just a few locals playing pool), when Sam said he wanted an early night. He had winced crawling from the bar booth. The motel wasn’t far. You stayed put and so did Dean, both nursing bottles of beer.

You finished your beer and headed to the bar. The bartender smiled at you, her face genuinely welcoming. You ordered another beer and paid. It felt weird being there with just Dean, no Sam to talk to. You’d hardly said a word to Dean, tired of the conflict that seemed to rise up out of anything you uttered.

“Do you mind if I tell you something?” Asked the bartender as she placed your drink beside you.

“Go for it,” you replied.

“Daniel, over by the pool table, has been eyeing you up something horrid tonight.”

Looking over at the pool table, you saw Daniel who looked up from the shot he was about to take if you a warm nod of his head.

“Uh, thanks, I had no idea,” you replied as Dean appeared at your elbow.

“You’re welcome,” said the bartender as she turned to Dean and took his order of whiskey.

Looking back at Daniel, you had to admit that he looked cute with his thick, curly blonde hair, brown eyes, tan, tight fitting band shirt and low slung jeans. There was a flutter of interest within your chest as you returned to your booth, but you weren’t going to make the first move.

Dean settled opposite you again and downed his whiskey in one, smacking his lips as the liquor hit his throat. Sipping your beer thoughtfully, you set your eyes distantly at some old record sleeves that had been tacked on to a wall and then you blinked, opened your eyes and-

“Hey there,” it was Daniel, “mind if I sit with you a spell?”

Before you could even reply, Dean had bolted to his feet and was towering over goldie locks. Like distantly watching a wildlife documentary through binoculars, you weren’t quite sure what was going on beyond primal instincts. Their words washed over you as an anger boiled in your ears and slowly melted out, drowning out the noise that surrounded you.

The beer was gone before the two men finished banging their chests and you were out of the door, jacket on, feet heading for the motel. A dozen different thoughts about the hundred ways you loathed Dean Winchester were flying through your head as your feet pounded the sidewalk. Everything so loud and angry inside your noggin that you didn’t hear Dean calling your name.

You didn’t stop until a hand touched your right shoulder and you spun instinctively to try and pin that hand behind its owner’s back. Only it was Dean and he easily slipped out of your attempted hold, painfully gripping your right wrist in return.

“WHAT THE HELL, DEAN?!” You screamed at him.

“Can we-”

“I’VE BEEN STUCK WITH THE TWO OF YOU FOR OVER A MONTH… AND…” your voice faltered, the anger leaving as swiftly as it came, “and… I just want something normal, Dean. Even if it’s a chocolate bar there or a stolen kiss here. I-”

Dean whipped you towards him, pressing you both close and brought his lips to yours. The kiss was sudden, tasting of whiskey. You smelled iodine, a hint of nutmeg, leather and oil above Dean’s natural musk. You felt a growing warmth spread through you.

The kiss ended when you pulled away to drag down lungfuls of air.

“Fuck… you… Dean!” You gasped, pissed at the effect he was having on you. You shook Dean off and continued angrily walking towards the motel.

“Wai-” But you ignored the rest of Dean’s words as you reached your room and let yourself in.

A bit of normal - is that too much to ask for? You thought to yourself as you locked and chained your motel room door and started getting ready for bed. You’d just finished slipping into your shorts and tight, old band t-shirt when you heard a familiar, urgent knocking at your door.

“Fuck’s sake, Dean,” you growled as you unchained and opened your door once more.

Dean was stood in the doorway, chest heaving, brow furrowed. “Look, I’m sorry about the chocolate, and dragging you with us this time and, and… you know… everything!” Dean lamented, a sheen of regret in his green eyes. And as you finally looked at Dean, really looked at him, you remembered the warmth you had felt less than ten minutes earlier and a part of you melted, flowing towards him.

In a blur of movement you launched yourself at Dean, pulling your arms over his shoulder and bringing him down to your lips so you could feel his kiss again. The fury that had burned so cleanly in you for weeks, was reduced to a simmer as you realised what you had wanted all along: Dean. From his green eyes to his bowed legs: you wanted all of him.

Placing his hands on your waist, Dean slowly eased you back inside your room, kicking the door closed behind him. Your kisses were angry and urgent, and Dean answered your caresses with equal intensity as he maneuvered you backwards towards your bed.

Your breath hitched as Dean moved a calloused right hand under your t-shirt, stroking your skin gently, as if trying to calm you, the exact opposite of how your kisses felt. His touches just further stoked the warmth growing in your stomach, but the resentment of the past month still wouldn’t be cooled so easily, but the frustration drove you on.

Pulling your hands away from Dean’s shoulders, he moaned as you spun the two of you round, before you pushed him down on your bed. Dean didn’t get a chance to say anything as you straddled him and began kissing once more, your thin bed shorts offering little resistance to Dean’s clothed erection, the friction driving both of you on. Dean’s hands started to wander, but you grabbed his wrists and pinned his hands down, taking what you wanted.

For a moment, you lifted your head away from Dean’s and gasped for air. But there were no words between you as you drove your mouth back down to his, pinching his wrists with your nails one moment when he tried to move and place his hands on you again. Dean relented and gave in to your control, groaning into your mouth as you began to grind atop him in earnest.

Twisting his head to the side, Dean finally broke free from your kisses, sucked in a breath and looked up at you as you towered over him. You gazed at his face, a part of you marvelling at his green eyes, freckles and the way he was biting his bottom lip.

“Is this what you want?” You said in a low voice. Desperate and hungry, you wanted to take all of him.

“Fuck, yes, yes!” Dean pleaded. He bucked underneath you, grinding himself into your thinly covered folds. For a moment you closed your eyes and revelled in the friction.

Your shorts soaking, you peeled yourself off of Dean and began removing his jeans and boxers, no more words exchanged as you worked the clothes off of him, springing his erection free. You eyed Dean hungrily as he removed his t-shirt and stayed silent. Going over to your duffel, you opened an interior pocket and pulled out a condom packet, which you threw at Dean.

While you stripped, Dean opened the condom packet and swiftly pulled the latex down his hard cock, then shifted up the bed. Undressed, you surveyed Dean, drinking him in, from his tattoo to the hardened muscles in his arms, before climbing on to the bed once more and swinging your legs either side of him, hovering over his cock.

Giving Dean a questioning look, he nodded and you drove yourself down onto him, your heat and walls quickly swallowing him, making his eyes turn up into his head. Placing your hands on the bed’s headboard, you started slowly to pump him, your wetness making an audible suck each time you bounced up from Dean’s cock.

A cry left your lips when Dean’s right hand sought out your clit and then began to rub it between your folds, scooping your juices onto it and teasing it with his thumb and forefinger. With each tiny movement he brought you closer, closer and closer to the edge, until, finally, you pulled your hands away from the headboard and placed them either side of Dean’s face. Opening his mouth to you, you moaned into Dean as it all became too much and you came, shuddering.

“That’s my baby girl,” said Dean in a low, gravelly voice, tense with his own need as you pulled away for some air.

Batting Dean’s right hand away, you swiftly pinned both of his hands either side of his head. There was a feigned whimper of complaint from Dean. Then, finding Dean’s lips once more, you kissed him, teasing his mouth open to you, before you started to slide your hips up and then thrust your hips down, the speed more urgent.

Leaving Dean’s lips for a moment, you looked down at Dean, his eyes were closed from the pleasure you were wracking through him, as you continued to thrust and slide, thrust and slide, and you grinned. “So,” you said in-between breaths, “do you hate my taste in music now?”

“Perhaps,” Dean growled, “it... has its merits.”

Quickly, you kissed Dean on the lips before pushing yourself up and on to the backs of your legs, your hands grasped onto Dean’s as you slid and thrusted. Dean’s hands were suddenly all over your thighs, gripping and stroking them, before his right hand reached your throbbing clit and began to tease it once more.

Intensifying your pace caused Dean to step up his own and as the pressure built in your core you could feel a tenseness drawing over him. It was only seconds, but as you brought each other to the brink, you felt a connectedness that you hadn’t allowed yourself in a long time.

One final push from your hips. One final rub from Dean’s fingers. You bent back towards Dean and clamped your mouth over his as the two of you reached your climaxes, all hot needy kisses, tongues flailing and muffled groans of pleasure.

Spent, you pulled away from Dean and rolled away to Dean’s right, giving him a moment to sort himself out before allowing yourself to be drawn into a hug, with Dean behind you. The two of you laid on the bed, hearts thumping, breathing ragged, smelling of booze and sex.

When you finally rolled to face him, you licked your lips, edging in for a kiss as he held you in his firm arms, and said, “Your taste in beer sucks.”

Dean grinned and then drew you into a deep kiss on the lips. He pulled away and smirked as he said, “Ah, but my taste in women rocks.”

Of course you weren’t about to disagree, as you sought his lips out once more, kissing Dean with an intensity that surprised you. Pulling away, you nuzzled your head against Dean’s chest.

“Was this the normal you were looking for?” Dean asked.

You kissed his chest. “Yes.”

Fact: You would be making Dean buy you more imported chocolate. F-A-C-T.


End file.
